They say you should be scared
by OneRealImonkey
Summary: They say you should fear death. Kirk doesn't fear death. He's dying, no doubt, but he isn't scared. He's seen far to much of the universe for that.


Kirk knew he was meant to be scared.

Kirk knew he was meant to be angry.

Kirk knew he was meant to be thinking of all the things left to do, all the things he would miss, all the things he would leave behind.

But he wasn't scared or angry or reminiscing.

He couldn't remember the first time he danced with death. He was only a few seconds old, born to early and bathed in radiation that made him weaker than he should be. Too young to understand what a miracle his survival was. Too young to know the sacrifices made.

He vaguely remembered the next one. He'd been three, his mother hadn't been able to stand him, ever, so she'd left him alone with Sam while she went on a date with Frank. He hadn't realised the danger of the river behind the farm. He'd been lucky then.

Choosing a next time was difficult, Frank left him balancing on the edge so often. When he 'tripped' down the stairs when he was six, when he 'fell' out of his bedroom window when he was eight. He had more than enough scars from Frank.

He was eleven when his teacher snapped and tried to burn the school down. He'd known but none of the adults had listened, so he'd made his own plans. When the man had snapped, he pushed the fire alarm, tackled the teacher, bought them time. He escaped with burns down the back of his left leg, nothing but raised scars now. Three students and one teacher had not been so lucky.

He was twelve when he drove a car of a cliff. He had never been suicidal, contrary to popular belief. No, it was the opposite. He'd known with certainty that if he'd stayed, Frank would kill him, especially now Sam was gone. He couldn't have Frank arrested and ruin the one thing Winona had left. He couldn't run away, he didn't have the money or the resources, it wasn't practical. He decided handcuffs were preferable to a body bag. He stole and destroyed the car, breaking about 15 traffic laws at the same time. He'd never meant to die there, it was hours before he realised how close he'd come.

He was fifteen when Kodos signed the execution order and killed everyone he loved. Almost everyone. He escaped with the rest of the kids in the village. With Mal and Pete, he rescued as many as he could.

He nearly died for all of those three months, from the day of the first executions to the day Kodos captured him.

Every guard he'd met. Every guard he'd killed. Hell, in many ways he did die there. He lost his soul to that place, lost his ability to feel pain, to feel hunger, remorse. He only felt guilt for the deaths he couldn't prevent. He felt no guilt for the lived he ended. None at all.

Every day Kodos tortured him for information.

Every day he'd begged for death had been another day he'd lived. Until Kodos had realised, after two weeks of pain, JT wasn't talking, and he'd been taken for execution. Starfleet had turned up then. Five seconds later, he would've been dead. Five minutes earlier, 200 other people from the death list, the last 200, other than his kids, all would have lived.

He'd come close to dying a few times in the aftermath, because from 16 he'd had nothing. He'd worked 6:30 am to 1am in three jobs (stocking shelves, mechanic, bartender) to pay for his tiny apartment, his food, his bills, his pills. Pills for the nightmares, they said, for the flinching and the anxiety. For the PTSD. Sometimes the money didn't go far enough, and booze was better. Sometimes the booze was better anyway. It made fighting easier. And fighting gave him feeling.

He'd nearly starved a few times. He hadn't felt hunger since about a month into the famine. Sometimes he forgot to eat. Sometimes he couldn't afford it.

Joining Starfleet had been a big change. He'd avoided it before because Riverside was all he needed. It was boring and monotonous and dull and safe. No bodies, no ghosts, no responsibilities, no danger.

No fun either.

He'd come close a few times as a Cadet. On a survival training run, in a bar after a disagreement, in a lab when the chemicals combusted unexpectedly. But now he had something new. Leonard McCoy, Bones, his roommate. His friend.

Jim had never had anyone to rely on before, not really.

Then the Narada. How many times had he peered over the edge there?

The drill, Delta Vega, the Bridge, Nero, Ayel, the Black hole.

He'd known the risks, known what to do. They others didn't know how to deal with situations like these. They were naive. They'd joined the Fleet straight from school, having lived no-where but their parent's houses before. They were still idealists. For all of Kirk's smiles and outward flippant nature, he knew the world was harsher than they could ever imagine. He mourned for the day they lost that innocence.

He'd nearly died a few times in the Fleet as well, as a Captain. But now he had a crew to watch his back. He wasn't alone anymore. It was hard to adapt, to learn to rely one someone other than himself for the first time in his 25 years of life.

When Khan had started shooting onto that room. He hadn't worked it out fast enough. Not to save several commanders and captains and admirals who hadn't deserved that death. Pike hadn't deserved that death.

When Khan had a phaser to his head, Marcus dead in the corner. His ship threatened. He'd wondered if he deserved it then. He'd wondered if Spock could continue after watching his captain murdered. He'd known Spock would.

Now he was in the Warp core, not scared or panicking or angry.

He was accepting.

He was peaceful.

He was ready to embrace it.

He'd saved his ship, they weren't falling anymore. He knew his crew would cope, recover, move forwards. They would do more for the universe than he ever could.

He was one broken, soulless man who'd seen hell and then seen worse and lived it all. They were still idealistic, still moral and still too nauseous at the sight of blood.

For most of his crew, he might be the first body they ever see.

He did regret taking that from them.

But he'd saved the ship.

Maybe this atoned for everything else.

Maybe the universe would let him rest now.

He could feel himself fading and he did nothing to fight it.

And then Spock was there and he had to hold it back. He had to know.

"How's our ship?"

Ours, soon to be yours. Take care of her for me, I know you can.

"Out of danger. You saved the crew."

Not only me.

"You used what he wanted against him. That's a nice move."

"It is what you would have done."

Why did Spock sound emotional? He didn't need that. He needed Spock to be fine.

"And this, this is what you would have done. It was only logical."

Spock looked like he was crying. The burning was everywhere, he was losing the ability to see more than blurry coloured shapes. But it had looked like Spock was crying. How was he meant to fix that?

"I'm scared, Spock. Help me not be. How do you choose not to feel?"

It wasn't true but it gave Spock something to do. A way to help. Even insignificant, even pointless, it would feel like it had purpose. Spock would be able to carry on knowing he had helped. That he hadn't been unable to do anything.

"I do not know. Right now I am failing."

Add to my guilt why don't you. Damnit Spock, I need you to be strong. You can't break here. Use this. Go forwards. Learn from it.

"I want you to know why I couldn't let you die. Why I went back for you."

Because all life is important. Because I can't lose anyone else. Because I couldn't live with the guilt of knowing I could have done something. Because...

"Because you are my friend."

...you are my friend.

He couldn't speak anymore.

He placed his hand on the door, trying to convey his emotion through it, praying it looked like the Ta'al. The pain had been replaced by numbness that was traveling through his body and he could only see blurs now.

He let himself go numb, embraced the darkness, welcomed it.

Years of pain and struggling. Paranoia, illness, injury, terror, hunger, emptiness, fury, insomnia.

He was finally allowed to sleep.

And so he didn't fight it...

.

.

.

What? No! This wasn't what he wanted. This was wrong. He was safe. He was finally free.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. You were barely dead. it was the transfusion that really took its toll. You were out cold for two weeks."

What had happened? What transfusion could have brought him back?

"Transfusion?"

"Your cells were heavily irradiated. We had no choice."

Irradiated. No shit. Warp core will do that. But death, it's permanent. He was worth a whole lot less than most. What gave him the right to come back?

But back is back, so time to fill in the gaps.

"Khan?"

"Once we caught him, I synthesised a serum from his superblood. Tell me, are you feeling homicidal? Power mad? Despotic?"

Other than being pissed that I'm alive, no. It's not fair. Pike, Amanda Greyson, they deserved this. Did he?

But hey, he was alive, he wasn't gonna try to get dead any time soon.

"No more than usual. How'd you catch him?"

Alleviate tensions, get more info. If he's alive he's got to fill in the gaps so he can keep on operating.

"I didn't."

The doctor turned, revealing Spock entering and he nearly laughed in relief. Spock was alive, and by the look of things, not guilty of rage-murder. From experience, Kirk knew Spock could've taken Khan. He was more than relieved to know Spock hadn't lost that over him. A phaser is very different to bare hands. He was glad Spock hadn't learnt that yet.

"You saved my life."

And a whole lot more, I'm sure.

"Uhura and I had something to do with it, too, you know?"

He shot Bones a glance. It gave more thanks than words could while retaining humour.

"You saved my life, Captain, and the lives of..."

Stop him there, this wasn't about Jim. He couldn't make it about himself.

"Spock. Just. Thank you."

Please don't counter me.

"You are welcome, Jim."

He closed his eyes and thought about death.

The game began again...


End file.
